Somebody That I Used To Know
by FuinnTilTheEnd
Summary: With high hopes of becoming an actress, Quinn and her best friend, Santana, move to Los Angeles right after college. Acting is her dream job, but what happens when she runs into someone that used to be a large part of her life? Someone who seems to be a completely different person now, and not for the better? AU; Other ships will be introduced eventually; T for language/content.
1. A Stranger

**A/N: So, this is the idea that has been haunting me and pretty much keeping me from writing the next chapter of LOA. It is mostly AU with some ideas used from the actual storyline. This one will be more hurt/comfort/angst than any other story I've written, so be aware. Oh, and there is also quite a lot of badboy Finn. I apologize for any errors and I hope that you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Glee!**

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Considering that she had been in Los Angeles for only six hours, waiting in line for a nightclub seemed to be the last thing that Quinn had had in mind. Yet here she was, standing in an uncomfortable pair of high heels and wearing a black cocktail dress, three people away from the entrance. Though the situation didn't appear to be too bad, she would much rather be at her still unpacked apartment, _sleeping_. Her eyes drifted to the side, where her so-called "best friend" was touching up her make-up. She glared at the Latina and impatiently waited for a response. Eventually, she was forced to clear her throat. Loudly.

"Yes?" Santana inquired, glancing away from the tiny mirror in annoyance.

The blonde continued to glare at her friend until she finally gave in and sighed. "Why did we have to come to a club _tonight_? Our apartment is still in need of being unpacked. Oh, and incase you forgot, _we just got here_! Aren't you tired at all?"

"Okay, first of all, we are _clubbing_," Santana corrected, rolling her eyes. "Secondly, we have plenty of time to decorate our new sanctuary. There's no need to panic. Finally, no, I'm not tired. It takes more than a six hour flight to tire me out. You should know _that_ after being my roommate for four years."

"Trust me, I know. Come to think of it, most of the boys in our graduating class probably do, too."

Santana laughed lightly before offering a nonchalant shrug. Her eyes flickered back to the mirror as she stated, "It's all about the teasing, not about the pleasing."

"Right because you totally _didn't_ please over half the football, basketball, _and_ baseball players in just the past two years alone," Quinn retorted, a teasing smile on her face.

The two girls shared a knowing look before they both busted up laughing.

Deeming herself as perfect and controlling her laughter, Santana tossed the mirror into her red clutch purse – one that matched her knee-length dress perfectly – and sent Quinn a good-humored glare, muttering a quiet profanity of, "Bitch." She then stepped to the front of the line.

"How many?" the bouncer asked, not-so-discreetly checking out both girls.

"Two," Santana replied sweetly, a flirtatious smile gracing her glossy red lips, which seemed to be illuminated by the giant sign displaying the club name, _Pulse_. She _really_ loved attention.

A few seconds passed, ones in which Quinn was trying very hard not to allow her repulsion to show, before the middle-aged man gave a grunt and unclipped the red velvet rope, ushering them inside.

"By the end of tonight, I'm pretty sure that I will hate you," Quinn whispered into the Latina's ear just as they entered the door of the club. She wasn't sure whether or not her message was heard because the music was practically deafening inside the large room. Everywhere she looked people were dancing, socializing, or drinking, but not in the messy college-party sort of way. It was almost as if people were acting _sophisticated_… and then she caught sight of a few couples grinding in the middle of the dance floor. Okay, so maybe they weren't sophisticated. Nope, it was just another party with the exception of expensive drinks and better dressed adults. Fun.

"I'll meet up with you later, 'kay?" Santana yelled, her eyes already darting in all directions as a devious smirk slowly appeared on her face. She didn't wait for an answer before she disappeared into the bustling crowd.

"Yeah, of course," Quinn muttered dryly. Looking around only increased her desire to be back at the apartment. It wasn't like she was the one who wanted to come to the club, anyway. If Santana hadn't threatened to kick her ass, she really would have stayed in bed. However, she knew her best friend well enough to know when she wasn't joking… most of the time. Why take the risk, right?

Exhaling slowly, she began to make her trek toward the bar, curiously looking around as she went. One of the first things that she noticed was how… _attractive_ people were. This most definitely wasn't like the parties back at Yale.

From the very second they landed at LAX, Quinn could tell that her new home was far more different than New Haven. Living in Los Angeles had been her dream ever since she was a little girl. After majoring in the fine arts for four long years and graduating only days earlier, she and Santana decided to take a risk and move to the large city in pursuit of becoming actresses. Basically it was a pipe dream, but, back in their tiny dorm, they swore to give it their all. Where 'clubbing' came into their big plan, she had no idea.

As soon as she took a seat on the bar stool, a handsome young bartender appeared in front of her, dazzling smile working in full force. He winked at her as he asked, "What can I get you, pretty lady?"

"Just a water please," she responded politely. Over the years, she had been hit on more than a couple of times. Well, ever since high school, really. By now she was used to it, but that didn't mean she liked it.

The young man's smile faltered slightly. "That all?" Receiving a nod from her, he turned around and grabbed a glass.

'_I'm going to kill her,'_ Quinn noted as she sighed loudly, although it was easily drained out by the music. The volume and chatter was so loud that she couldn't even hear the lyrics to the song, only the heavy backbeat. Clubs just weren't her thing. After tonight, she was _definitely_ going to have a conversation with Santana about their after hour activities. Actually… just their _shared_ after hour activities.

Just then, a man with short brown hair took a seat next to her. He wore a black leather jacket with a white t-shirt underneath and a pair of dark jeans. Based on his choice of clothing, she had the feeling that he was one of those 'bad' boys. The thought caused her to laugh internally, though she knew that this guy was most likely Santana's ideal type of… _partner_. Just when she was contemplating on whether or not to tell the Latina, he looked over at her. Initially, her first thought was that she knew him… but that was impossible. There was no way that she could know someone from here, because she didn't… she _couldn't_.

Some sort of confused look briefly crossed his features before it was gone and a confident smirk took its place.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked in voice coated with honey. And yet, somehow, it was familiar.

"N-no, I'm okay," she replied. A glass of water was placed in front of her as soon as the words left her mouth. Unknown to her, the bartender was watching her, hoping to gain her attention once more. However, her new companion happened to notice this.

"Gin and tonic," said the stranger as his eyes momentarily peeled away from Quinn to give the man a hard look.

The two men shared a glare before the bartender turned and walked a little farther down the bar.

"So," began the man as he eagerly turned his attention back to the blonde. "What's a beautiful girl like you doing sitting all alone?"

'_Smooth.'_

"Just came here with a friend." As she talked, her eyes were trained on his face. God, she _definitely_ knew him from somewhere.

He raised an eyebrow and she could have sworn that it was one of the hottest things she'd ever seen. "Does that mean you're _leaving_ with that same friend?"

She tried to hide her smile by taking a small sip of her water. "Is that seriously your best attempt at seducing me?"

"What?" he exclaimed, eyes widening. "Why would you think that?"

"Pretty lame," she continued in a bored tone. _'His eyes are so… wow.'_

The man examined her before shaking his head. "If I wanted to sleep with you, don't you think I'd ask something like, 'do you want to have sex with me?'?"

Against her will, a trill of a giggle escaped her lips. "So you _don't_ want to sleep with me?"

"I never said that," he quickly retorted. She could've sworn that he flushed a little when he looked away to swipe a hand through his jelled hair.

Looking annoyed, the bartender slammed the drink in front of the stranger and departed without casting a single glance behind him.

"Great service," the man uttered sarcastically before downing the drink.

"What's your name?" Quinn blurted, her cheeks immediately turning a light pink afterwards. She had never been this forward before, but… call her crazy, but she _had_ to have met him before.

He ran his tongue over his lips before setting the glass down and tilting his head to look at her. That cocky smirk was back on his face as he said, "Figures that you'd want to know. After all, you could very well be screaming it tonight."

And to think that he almost had a chance. Instantly, disgust washed through her. She rolled her eyes before digging through her purse, slapping a five on the counter, and standing up. There was no way in hell that she was associated with a _pig_.

"Whoa, hey, wait!" the man called, grabbing her wrist when he was a few steps behind her.

"Let go of me," Quinn hissed in annoyance. _'Why are guys so persistent? Especially in a place like this! There are practically hundreds of other 'hot' girls for them to prey on! Uhg, damn-'_

"My name is Finn, okay?"

That caused her to freeze. Finn…. Yeah, she knew him, alright. Honestly, how could she ever forget?

Seconds later, she slowly turned around and faced him.

"Finn _Hudson_?" she swallowed. That name hadn't popped into her mind since…

"Yeah," he answered slowly, a weird look taking over his features. Quickly, he released her arm. "Why? Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Yes." Her vague response was so quiet that she didn't know if he could even hear her. When he gave her a puzzled look, she felt a stab in her chest. Despite the music, her voice rang out loud and clear as she stated, "I'm Quinn Fabray."

It was kind of amusing to see the look that appeared on Finn's face. There were so many emotions: shock, surprise, disbelief, sadness, _horror_. She wasn't sure why that last one was there, but, then again, how _could_ she know? She hadn't seen or heard from him in _seven years_. Things changed, but people _clearly_ seemed to change even more.

There was no denying the fact that she couldn't even _recognize_ the man standing in front of her. He certainly didn't _look_ like her former best friend… or, to be more specific, her former boyfriend.

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**One more thing, I'll most likely be making up locations for this story. Anyway, I hope you find it interesting so far! **

**UPDATE:I PROMISE that the next update will be for LOA. I may even do a double update for that and ASA. It all depends on how much time I have to write. Oh, and Need You Now was a one-shot, but if you want me to continue that, I might. However, I wasn't planning on it. If anything, I'll make a story revolving around that storyline after I finish one of my 3 current works in progress. **

**Reviews are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!**


	2. I'm Not Okay

**I know it has been a long time since I updated this story, but I finally found some time and inspiration to write! My Christmas break starts on Friday, so I'll be writing much more then. I'm hoping to finish one of my other two stories over break, most likely A Sudden Attraction. I may be changing my pen name in the next few days due to the fact that my next story is going to be for Gossip Girl. I feel like I owe Derena a story now that the series is over, and I already have an idea. I'm not too satisfied with this chapter, but it is what it is. I apologize for any mistakes & I hope that you enjoy! Warning: Language!**

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Glee!**

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It felt like centuries had passed as Finn stared wide-eyed, mouth agape, at the blonde standing in front of him. He knew that his response was unbelievably rude and that he was no longer acting like his cool, collected self that he'd come to perfect so well in the past couple of years. It should have bothered him, but it didn't. How was it even _possible_ for her to find him? They parted ways _years_ ago, and he made sure that it would stay that way. Yet here she was, in all of her stunning glory, despite all the time that had gone by. He couldn't believe that he hadn't recognized her earlier – there was only one Quinn Fabray. She was still so beautiful, so perfect… No, he couldn't think of her like that. He had no right to.

His face became devoid of emotion as he muttered a gruff, "Nice seeing you, but I have to go," and bolted for the door, shoving people aside as he went and ignoring their angry shouts of insults and profanity. It was a tad bit funny how running seemed to be all he ever did when it came to her. He could still remember the day that he left, making numerous promises that he knew he wouldn't keep. The memory of the broken expression she wore on her angelic face still haunted him… he hated himself for what he did to her. But it was the only escape; the only option that seemed plausible at the time.

At last he broke through the main door and kept his head down as he headed towards the alleyway located just to the left of the large club. By now, his thoughts were consuming him and the questions were racing across his mind: Why was she here? How did she find him? What did she think of him now? How did she even recognize him? Did she still hate him?

He rested his back against the brick wall of the club and took a deep, shaky breath, which ultimately did nothing for the swelling wave of emotion building within him. It wasn't her fault, really, it wasn't, but she just… she wasn't supposed to see him. Not now, not _ever_.

He didn't realize that his fists were clenched until he felt his fingernails digging into his palms painfully. He was angry with himself, angry about how different he was now. Once upon a time, he was the sweet, caring boy whom which everyone liked. His best friend was, at that point in time, what he considered to be the love of his life. _'That was ninth grade!'_ he chastised himself bitterly. _'You're a man now – an adult! So what if your high school sweetheart turned up out of the blue? She doesn't matter anymore!'_

Before he was even aware of what he was doing, Finn spun around sharply and slammed his fist into the wall.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" a voice demanded from the mouth of the alley. He recognized the voice immediately, but didn't have the energy to care. For a brief moment, he gazed down at his blood-stained right fist and blinked. A word didn't escape his mouth as a hand placed itself insistently on his shoulder and turned him around.

Silence filled the air as both of the men examined the steadily reddening skin.

"What happened?"

Finn snapped out of his trance and locked his gaze with his friend's. He smiled through the immense pain that had begun to throb through his hand and calmly said, "Nothing, Puck. I'm fine."

"Like fucking hell you're fine!" Puck exclaimed as anger and worry caused his voice to rise. "Why did you punch a _brick_ _wall_? I know you aren't that stupid."

The taller man shrugged lightly and let his busted hand drop to his side, successfully managing not to wince at the movement. It felt like it was broken. And he didn't even care.

Puck searched his friend's face intently. He'd never seen him look so… blank. "It was a girl, wasn't it? I told you, bro; sometimes these Los Angeles chicks are stuck up. That doesn't give you an excuse to take your anger out on a wall."

"That's not why I did it," Finn snapped, his words becoming as venomous as the pain coursing through his hand.

Puck blinked. "Then why _did_ you do it? Have you gone crazy?"

"Fuck off," Finn spat, stupidly shouldering past the mohawked man with his bad arm and causing a hiss of pain to escape his lips.

"Tell me," Puck insisted, placing a firm hand on his arm. Seeing the warning in his best friend's eyes, he released his hold on him and put his hands up defensively. "I get that you're angry, but we're practically _brothers_. You can tell me anything."

Silence fell between the two once more, and Finn took the opportunity to examine his damaged hand again. The blood continued to flow from his knuckles and, frankly, the sight was beginning to make him queasy. Yet he continued to stare.

"Finn?"

Feeling like a child that had gotten in trouble, he finally mumbled a reluctant explanation of, "I saw Quinn tonight."

"Oh," was all Puck managed to say. "Did she… did she know it was you?"

"Yeah," he breathed out. Slowly, he lifted his head to meet Puck's gaze. He cleared his throat and gently rested his arm back against his side. "Look, I-I'm going to go take care of my… injury. I'll talk to you later." As soon as the words left his mouth, Finn gave a parting nod and headed back in the direction he came.

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"So, you know Finn Hudson?" asked the bartender as he gladly placed another martini in front of Quinn.

She took her time in answering, absentmindedly twirling the glass between her fingers. At last, she settled on, "I used to," and took a large swig of the alcohol.

"Ex-boyfriend?" he pried.

That earned a laugh from her. "More like an ex _everything_. I just never thought I'd see him again, you know?"

The handsome guy, whom which she learned was named Travis, grunted in agreement. Casually, he leaned across the counter and asked, "Do you wish that you hadn't seen him tonight?"

She could tell that he was expecting an answer somewhere along the lines of, 'Hell yes!' but she found herself saying, "No."

"Why?" Confusion etched itself into his features.

"I don't know," she admitted, confused by her own answer.

"The guy was an ass to you and you're saying that you're okay with it?"

Quinn shot him an annoyed look and rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not okay with him acting like an ass. I guess I'm just glad to know that he's alive."

Seeming to have lost interest, Travis shook his head and pulled back. Before he wandered down to the other end of the bar, he solemnly stated, "You shouldn't get involved with him again. Finn is known to have quite the track record with the ladies around here."

"Wasn't planning on it," she whispered to herself, attending to her drink once more. Judging by their previous encounter, she had pieced together that Finn wasn't exactly the gentlemanly type; not anymore. Sighing, she glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only one in the morning, but all she wanted was to sleep and forget that this night ever happened. After leaving the money she owed on the counter, she was about to slide off of the stool when a man quickly cut her off and took the seat next to her. She fought back her annoyance and tossed him a 'what-do-you-want' look.

"Blonde _and_ beautiful," the man remarked with a smirk, eying her approvingly.

"And not interested," Quinn quipped in a bored tone. She managed to get out of her seat and was reaching to grab her clutch when the man said, "With an attitude, too. By any chance, are you Quinn Fabray?"

Her eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fright. "Who's asking?"

"The name is Noah Puckerman, but I prefer Puck," he responded, extending his hand. When she didn't reciprocate, he added, "I'm Finn Hudson's best friend."

At the mention of Finn, her curiosity instantly peaked. "How do you know him?"

Puck glanced down at his outstretched hand before sighing dramatically and dropping it. "We met in high school and have been best friends ever since." Seeing the confused look on her face, he added, "I didn't go to McKinley. Finn and I met at Garnet High in Utah, sophomore year."

'_He moved to Utah?'_ was the immediate thought that popped into her mind. He had told her that he was moving to Minnesota….

"Anyway, I ran into Finn as he was, um, leaving and noticed that he was upset. I assumed that only one person could do that to him, and that's you."

"He told you about me?" Her voice had become much softer than it was before, so she wasn't entirely sure if he had heard her.

"Once," he confirmed with a nod. "Look, I'm not going to nag you for details about what went down between you two earlier, but I want you to know that Finn isn't normally like that."

Biting on her bottom lip was the only way to contain her bitter laughter. "You mean that he _isn't_ one of LA's finest players?"

He blinked. "Where'd you hear that from?"

"Does it matter?" she retorted.

"He's had his fair share of problems," Puck replied carefully before turning his attention to the pockets of his jeans.

Quinn honestly couldn't believe that she was having this conversation. "Everyone else does, too. However, most people don't turn into conceited, cocky jerks."

"Here." A crumpled piece of paper was shoved into her hands. "That's his address and number. If you're going to call, wait until about noon tomorrow. If you want to visit… still wait until noon."

"Late sleeper?" she inquired sarcastically.

Puck's gaze dropped. "Like I said, he's had a rough time lately."

Something about the way he said that made Quinn's heart ache. Silently, she handed the paper back to him.

"Wait, what are you-"

"I need your number in case I can't reach him." Though she tried to, she couldn't keep the edge out of her tone.

Puck furrowed his eyebrows briefly before his confused expression was replaced with a smirk. "You _need_ my number? Do I look _that_ easy to you?"

"I can see where Finn gets his inspiration from," she responded dryly. "Just do it, okay?"

"Anything for you, babe," he said with a chuckle and a wink for good measure. As he wrote down his digits, Quinn watched him with a thoughtful look on her face.

"How has he had a rough time?"

The hazel-eyed man took his time in finishing writing before he sighed and placed the cap back on the pen. He slid the paper to her and offered a small smile. "I think _he_ should be the one to tell you that."

"But-"

"Hey, Q!" Santana interrupted loudly, slurring her words slightly. "Great place, right?!"

The blonde glared at her friend and pocketed the paper before turning her attention back to Puck. "Thank you for everything."

"No problem," he replied with a grin. "But if Finn asks who gave you his information, it wasn't me. Got it?"

"Got it," Quinn confirmed with a small nod. The two exchanged goodbyes and soon she was left with a very drunk Santana.

"Who was _that_?" the Latina inquired, licking her lips and staring in the direction Puck went.

Quinn fought back an eye roll and grabbed hold of her hand. "That was nobody, San. Now, time for you to go back to our still very much unpacked apartment and get some sleep."

"But I don't want to!"

"Too bad," she stated with a giggle. "You're drunk."

"Not drunk enough," Santana retorted lamely.

"Santana," the blonde sighed. "We both need sleep. Tomorrow is a big day."

The raven-haired woman stared at Quinn with disbelief written all over her face. "I don't know about you, Q, but I am _not_ looking forward to unpacking all of our crap. I'd rather just buy new things."

"Newer may be better, but things from the past still have value," Quinn reminded her in a very matter-of-fact tone. Those words weren't just referring to their luggage, either.

"Whatever," Santana scoffed. "Just know that I'll be doing the supervising tomorrow."

"If you even do _that_," Quinn muttered to herself as she helped her friend out the door.

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**Review please?(:**


	3. A Visit

**A/N: I've been both reading and writing a lot of angst... so I apologize if this seems to be a little depressing. The Dan/Serena fic should be up before New Years, for those who are interested. I haven't decided if I'm going to change my pen name for sure, but if I do, would anyone have a problem with that? **

**If there are any mistakes, it's because I edited this at 11:30 at night(: Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Glee.**

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Moving to Los Angeles was supposed to provide her with a fresh start and a new beginning, leaving the past in the past. Yet here she was, driving the streets of the city in a seemingly much too expensive rental car that still smelled of pine-scented air freshener, searching for the home of someone who, perhaps, had played the largest role in her past. Finn had been apart of her life for sixteen years. Whether or not she tried to deny it, her heart would always hold a special place for him.

With a sigh, Quinn briefly eyed the dimly-lit GPS system. She'd only been driving for about twenty minutes, and yet her destination was still a good fifteen minutes away. Originally, she had had a nagging suspicion that Finn might have lived in one of the…less glamorous parts of the city. It was an inevitable thought after she had noticed that he lived a life of partying, girls, and embodying a bad attitude. That idea quickly vanished once she had passed the sign signaling that she had entered Hollywood. How was it possible that he lived here? As far as she could remember, he never showed a passion for the entertainment industry. He had joined the glee club, but that was more of a hobby than anything.

It took another half hour (the traffic was _horrible_) until she was finally pulling into the entrance of a glitzy apartment complex. The parking fee itself was twenty dollars per hour; one hundred for the day.

'_This visit better not be a mistake,'_ she warily thought to herself as she grabbed her purse and climbed out of the vehicle. The nerves were apparent from the second she closed the door and headed for the lobby. Taking a risk didn't even begin to explain what she was doing. He had made it clear the night before that he didn't want to see her. She wasn't even really sure if _she_ wanted to see _him_.

The second she stepped into the lobby, she felt a new wave of uncertainty wash through her. Based off of the suave, sophisticated look and atmosphere of the lobby, she assumed that celebrities were occupants of the building. There were signs signaling the locations of boutiques, spas, and restaurants. This didn't exactly seem like the type of place the "new" Finn would live in.

Pulling out the crumpled piece of paper from the previous night, she scanned the sheet for the floor and room number.

"Crap," she muttered, noticing that only the address and two phone numbers were written down. There were three choices at this point. She could ask one of the clerks (making her look like a total stalker), she could call Puck, or she could turn around and go back to her apartment. After a brief second of contemplating, she pulled out her phone and punched in the second number. Two rings later, there was an answer.

"Go for Puckster."

She rolled her eyes. "It's Quinn."

"Is it now?" She could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"I'm at Finn's apartment complex. What's his floor and room number?"

"I believe you forgot to say the magic word," he stated with a slight chuckle.

That caused her teeth to clench. "I don't have time for games, _Noah_."

"Ouch, low blow," he teased.

"Please tell me," she said at last.

"Now, that's more like it. Isn't it nice being nice?" He laughed once more, enjoying his joke far too much. "Twenty-third floor, apartment 2304. Have fun, kiddo'."

Honestly, she didn't know how someone could stand someone as obnoxious as Puck. She mumbled a quick "thanks" before hanging up. Putting her phone back into her pocket proved to take longer than necessary. She only vaguely noticed that her hands were shaking. What was wrong with her? She didn't have this kind of reaction when she saw him last night.

Shaking the nerves off, she walked over to the elevators and clicked the button. The doors opened immediately and she stepped inside, watching the button marked '23' light up as she pressed it.

This whole situation was just…bizarre. Of all the places she could have ran into him at, why'd it have to be in a city with over a million people? Why did she still feel compelled to be there for him when he was the one who had abandoned her? The world worked in funny ways.

The elevator came to a stop and opened with a soft _ding_.

'_No turning back now,'_ she mused, stepping out of the elevator and walking down the hall. Every single one of her footsteps seemed to echo a thousand times on the sleek tiled floor. It didn't help the unsettling feelings she already possessed.

Not more than twenty seconds later, she was standing in front of the door marked '2304'. Her hand began to shake ever so slightly as she brought it up, curled it into a fist, and knocked precisely three times.

There was a silence that lasted a little less than a minute before the door finally opened.

"Q-Quinn?" Once again, she had taken him by surprise – a rare occurrence.

She, on the other hand, was doing her best not to gawk at the chiseled muscles on his bare chest. Her eyes ended up watching the floor as she quietly said, "Hi, Finn."

"How'd you find me?" That detached, emotionless tone was back. She had noticed it last night…and she didn't like it. Even his arrogant display was more appealing than this. At least it showed _some_ feeling.

"The bartender from last night told me," she lied, risking a glance to see the expression on his face. Empty.

He became quiet once more, his fingers picking at the paint on the doorframe. "_Why_ are you here?"

That stung a bit more than she would've liked to admit. "I don't know. I guess I just thought that you might want to explain to me why you _really_ left seven years ago." She didn't know what had caused her to say that, or why her voice was suddenly so menacing.

He winced and finally focused his full attention on her. "That's why you came here?"

She picked her head up and locked gazes with him, feeling a small flutter in the pit of her stomach. The anger drained from her and she sighed heavily. "No, it isn't. I…I honestly don't know why I'm here; I just know that I needed to come. Finn, it's been seven _years_ since I last saw you. I…please just tell me what happened."

His chocolate brown eyes bore into hers, still conveying a feeling of emptiness in the depths of his orbs. "Unless you're interested in a more _physical_ activity, I'd suggest that you leave."

"What happened to you?" she asked, her voice coated in pity.

"I changed."

The answer was so simple, yet she knew there was so much more to it. "If that's the case, then I want to get to know the 'changed' you."

"You shouldn't even _be_ here," he practically growled, ignoring her implied question. "I left. I didn't return your calls, texts, or emails. I never came back. Why didn't you take the hint?"

Like a small child, she felt the need to take a step back from him. Her voice wavered as she asked, "What hint?"

Disbelief momentarily crossed Finn's already stoic face, yet she could've sworn she saw something that resembled pain flicker into his eyes. "I never wanted to see you again."

While her brain slowly absorbed his brutal words, he turned around and stalked into his apartment. Based on the open door, she took that as an open invitation to follow him. She could feel the hurt and anger building within her as she made her way further into the room, only to come to an abrupt halt almost instantly. This was definitely _not_ what she was expecting. The walls were a pristine white, the floors made of beautiful hardwood, and the windows extended from the floor to the ceiling, seeming to span the entire length of the room. Her negative emotions were briefly forgotten as she looked around in awe.

Taking a few more steps further, she noticed that the majority of the living room held a bachelor feel to it. A few plush white sofas surrounded a flat-screen TV, and she could just make out a small bar at the other end of the room. It didn't exactly surprise her when she discovered that the bar was Finn's destination. Wanting to avoid the inevitable grudge match for a few more seconds, she continued looking around. A small smile graced her lips when her eyes landed on an area containing a drum set, guitar, and microphone. Maybe music became a larger part of his life than she thought.

Returning to reality, she cautiously made her way towards the bar. "Don't you think it's a little early for alcohol?"

A glint appeared in his eyes as he glanced at her. Whether it was menacing or mischievous, she didn't know. His attention returned to rummaging through the shelves behind the counter, bottles recklessly clinking against one another as he did.

So now he was blatantly ignoring her. How mature. "I get that my being here is upsetting you, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm here. Do you even remember what we used to be like? How we were more or less inseparable until you left?"

No reply.

"That was _sixteen years_ of our lives, Finn. Did you really forget?" By now, she was resorting to desperation.

Finally finding what he wanted, he gruffly placed a bottle of scotch on the table and picked a glass from a cupboard.

Quinn took a seat on a bar stool, placed her purse on the counter, and stared at him. Oh, how she wished that she was able to see the Finn that she used to know. "What about all the firsts we shared?"

He paused in pouring the liquid, his whole body seeming to freeze. She took that as a sign to elaborate for him.

"Most people claim that they know each other from birth. We are probably the only people who can admit to that being true. Though you're a few days older than me, our parents put us together the moment we were both out of the hospital. We shared cribs, toys, the play-pen...even before either of us was aware what it meant, we were each other's first friend."

Slowly, Finn placed the bottle of scotch on the table and grabbed his glass of the alcohol. His eyes remained low as he took a drink.

"Remember in first grade when that fifth-grade jerk of a bully Ronny pushed me and I fell, scraping my elbow?" He still avoided her gaze. "When you found out, you were so furious that you stormed up to him after school, threatening him when he was at least ten times your size. Even though you ended up running away from him, you were the first person to stand up for me."

"Stop," he muttered against the rim of his glass.

"I'm sorry, am I only making you more upset?" Anger and sarcasm dominated her voice.

The tall brunette briefly met her piercing hazel eyes before busying himself with pouring another glass of scotch.

It was an understatement to say that she was pissed off. "Sixth grade – I was developing a stupid crush – my _first_ crush – on my best friend, someone who I'd always thought of as a brother. Eighth grade – you asked me to dance at that cheesy winter ball. We both knew that you were a horrible dancer, yet you still asked. It was going pretty well until a slow song came on. You were so nervous that you didn't even want to put your hands on my waist, until I made you. Halfway through the song, you kissed me. It was only a peck, but that was my _first_ kiss. Do I even have to remind you about sophomore year, or did you already forget your first time?"

A tense silence fell between the two. Quinn was staring daggers at him, waiting for him to say something, _anything_. Was all of that really meaningless to him?

"You know what all of that has in common?" he finally questioned, his voice soft and somewhat familiar for once. Lifting his head, he met her gaze. "It happened in the past."

Quinn's shoulders slumped in defeat. Her head dropped into her hands and she shut her eyes. That pain that she had felt when he left all those years ago – that's what she felt right at that moment. He was standing right in front of her, and yet, somehow, it felt as if he was a thousand miles away.

Finn swallowed uncomfortably. "Do you want something to drink?"

'_He breaks me all over again, and then asks if I want a fucking drink?' _If she hadn't been feeling so utterly drained, she would've slapped him. With her head still in her hands, she asked, "How do you even afford to have a bar in your apartment, let alone owning an apartment in Hollywood?"

"I clean pools," he answered with a shrug, placing a glass of something vile smelling in front of her.

Immediately, her head shot up. "Excuse me?"

"I clean pools," he repeated with a slight laugh. "Why does that surprise you so much?"

"It's just…this place looks _expensive_."

"Oh, it is," he assured her.

Even if he was just lying to keep her from breaking down in front of him, it was working. "Then how can you afford it?"

"My charm and wit tends to earn me some generous tips."

'_Doubtful,'_ she thought bitterly. "Seriously, how?"

He laughed once more, and she was painfully aware of how much she had missed it. He took a sip of his drink and made his way around the counter to sit next to her. "I moved out here with my best friend a couple years ago because he wanted to start a pool cleaning business. Of course, he was doing it more for the fun of bagging cougars, but that doesn't really matter. The business starting picking up quickly and now our clients include an A-list of celebrities and a few other wealthy residents. They tip well, and some of the more…_needy_ clients give us an added bonus for our _assistance_."

Basically he was a pool boy and a high-class booty call. What a life.

"You said a couple years ago. Was that when you graduated from high school?"

"Yes," he replied casually.

"Which high school did you go to?" It only seemed reasonable to try and get _some_ questions answered. She'd already lost what little shred of dignity she had left.

The glass was placed on the counter. Finn looked straight into her eyes and asked, "Why does that matter?"

"I'm just wondering." She was doing her best to play it cool and offered a small shrug. "You told me that you went to a school in Minnesota, right?"

A confused expression momentarily appeared on his face before it was gone. "Right, I did. I didn't think you'd remember…"

Somehow, she was able to see right through his lie. She looked away from him and her eyes immediately landed on his bandaged hand. How she hadn't noticed it before, she had no idea. All she knew was that it wasn't there the night prior.

"What happened to your hand?" she inquired, still looking at the bandage.

His eyes immediately snapped to the object of interest. "Oh, this? I got into a small dispute with a…um, friend. It's nothing really, just a scratch."

Being a terrible liar was something that he was _very_ good at. He always had been.

"Enough about me," he quickly added. "How have you been? What brings you to the city?"

Quinn bit her lip thoughtfully, trying to come up with theories concerning the real reason behind his injured hand. "I've been pretty good. I graduated from Yale a week ago and I moved out here with my best friend, Santana, just yesterday. It may seem like a far fetched dream, but we both really want to become actresses."

"You ended up going to your dream school," Finn stated, the ghost of the crooked-smile that she had loved so much flashing across his features.

Taken aback, she stared at him with wide eyes. "You remembered?"

"That was the only thing you ever talked about since, like, sixth grade. Kind of hard to forget." His voice was so soft and so _familiar _when he said that. It was almost like the past few years hadn't happened. Almost.

"So, um, are you in a relationship?" he asked, suddenly sounding nervous. She'd missed that about him – when he used to ramble and say outright ridiculous things simply because he was only the slightest bit on edge. The reminiscing was over when he spoke again, sounding like his cocky self once more.

"I figured that you had to be. I mean, you're still beautiful."

Despite trying her best not to, her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "No, I don't have a boyfriend. I dated a few times throughout college, but I never really clicked with any of those guys."

"It's hard to find someone like that," he agreed.

"What about you?" she questioned with a hint of distaste in her voice. "From what I've heard, dating isn't exactly your forte."

He shrugged. "I guess I'm not a believer in love."

"So you hook-up with any girl that is willing?"

"Not just _any_ girl. I do have standards," he reprimanded.

"You're different, you know." She'd said it only minutes earlier, but she felt the need to say it again.

He looked away from her and picked up the glass of scotch. "Did you really expect that I'd be the same?"

She watched as he downed the remainder of the liquid. "I didn't know what to expect. Frankly, I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"Neither did I," he commented, staring at his empty glass. "At least, I wasn't supposed to. But I guess I've known that the world is a pretty fucked up place for a while now."

Ignoring the obvious jab in his statement, Quinn tentatively reached out and placed her hand over his healthy one. "I don't care how this whole situation happened, but I want to…_try_ to be friends again. We used to be the best of friends, and so much more than that. I'm not blaming you for leaving, or judging you, but since we're both here now, maybe we can just _try_. It could be a fresh start for the both of us."

His eyes had been glued to where her hand was resting on his from the second she placed it there.

"I don't think that would be a very good idea," he said at last.

"Why?"

Finn slid his hand out of her grasp and stood up, running a hand nonchalantly through his disheveled hair. "It would only complicate things. I'm living my life, and you're living yours. I don't know about you, but I've been doing perfectly fine without you."

It was as if he had a switch within him. One moment he'd be acting like a soulless bastard, and then the next he was…somewhat normal, acting like a human being.

"Having me in your life would _complicate_ things?" She shook her head and laughed once. "Lord knows that's the last thing I'd want to do for you, what with your million-dollar apartment and endless supply of girls. You're a real ass, you know that?"

"I've enjoyed talking to you," he said," but I need to take a shower. Unless you want to join me, you know where the door is."

Quinn snatched her purse from the counter and stood up in one fluid motion, glaring at him. "I never should have come here."

"You shouldn't have," he agreed coldly.

Forcing herself not to slap him, she swiftly walked past him and headed for the door. She made sure to slam the door as hard as she could, secretly hoping that it would damage something in his apartment. Her steps grew hurried as she walked towards the elevator, impatiently stabbing the button upon arriving.

She was naïve and stupid for ever thinking that showing up at his doorstep would end in a positive outcome. All it did was confirm every fear that she had when it came to him – he didn't want anything to do with her. Somehow, she became completely insignificant to him. It hurt. It hurt when he left, it hurt for three years after that, and it hurt now. What hurt even more was the fact that he didn't even care.

When the doors chimed open, she gladly stepped inside. She could feel the prickling in her eyes begin, a feeling that she had grown to despise over the years. Weakness. That's exactly what he was to her – a _weakness_.

She managed to make it all the way out of the elegant building without shedding a single tear. It really was an accomplishment. For a brief moment, she believed that maybe nothing would happen, that she'd be able to overcome that unbearable feeling of vulnerability. Maybe by walking out of his building seemingly unscathed, she had gained a new found confidence in herself – _he didn't matter_. The thought was absolutely comforting and for that brief moment, she believed it.

That is, until she closed the door of her rental car.

It hit her like a wave. The tears were flowing down her cheeks at a rapid pace, staining the yellow sundress she wore as the drops landed. Her forehead pressed against the steering wheel as her hands became idle in her lap. For a good ten minutes, she just wept. Every sob that racked her body only seemed to intensify the pain that she had kept bottled up for such a long time. She wasn't crying because he'd changed, she was crying because he wasn't the same Finn whom she had loved back in the ninth grade. She was crying because the reason why none of those other relationships ever worked out was because none of those guys were _him_. Deep, deep down inside, she always knew that she would find him again. Yeah, she was right about that.

But he wasn't supposed to break her.

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** Reviews are greatly appreciated (:**


	4. Remorse

**A/N: I can't apologize enough for the large delay! I really am sorry, I've just been distracted and lacking motivation lately. I started on chapters for my other two stories and I hope to have them up soon, but I don't want to make any promises just in case I can't follow through. Not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but it's necessary for what I have planned. Once again, I'm sorry and I hope that you enjoy! All mistakes are mine.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any real places associated with this story.**

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**Finn's POV**

Why did everything seem to go wrong for him lately?

Spontaneously bumping into her at the club was one of those events that fell under the category of 'being in the wrong place at the wrong time'. It had made him…frustrated and caused him to momentarily snap, but it was only supposed to be a one-time event. A sick, twisted event. But no; the world revolved around making his life a living hell.

It wasn't her, necessarily. There were worse things than waking up from a shitty night to find Quinn Fabray at your doorstep – much, _much_ worse things. He had never intended on being such an asshole to her. If it had been anyone else, then yeah, it probably would have been intentional. As he sat on his thousand-something dollar sofa, drowning his sorrows in alcohol, he could've sworn that what he was feeling was remorse. It was definitely a newer feeling for him. Lately, he'd been used to feeling nothing. Who would have thought that living a life of luxury could result in feeling so…_empty_?

There was a knock at the door, but he didn't have the energy to care. Though she had stormed out almost two hours ago, he never locked the door. His eyes continued to watch his now empty glass as he hollered out a greeting to come in.

"This is quite the party," Puck noted sarcastically once he was standing a few feet away from his friend.

Finn sighed and began pouring another drink. "What do you want?"

"Dude, it's almost two in the afternoon. I thought we were going to catch some waves in Malibu before Mike's party?"

Right, he'd almost forgotten. Mike Chang's birthday was today, a mutual friend he and Puck had met when they first moved out to the west coast. He was throwing a huge bash at his mansion in Beverly Hills and practically everyone who was anyone had been invited. Finn hadn't even bought him a gift yet. "I'm not in the mood."

The mohawked man cleared his throat and took a seat across from Finn. "What happened?"

It took a few seconds for him to respond, as he suddenly found his scotch much more fascinating than before. He fiddled with his glass before he finally murmured a quiet explanation of, "Quinn stopped by this morning."

"Did it go well?"

The eagerness in his voice caused Finn's head to rise and his eyes to narrow. "No, it didn't."

"That's too bad, bro," Puck replied, avoiding eye contact. "She's a really great girl."

"How would you know?" Finn snapped.

Puck stayed silent for a full minute before he said anything. "I, uh, I talked to her last night after you left. I was the one who gave her your address."

Finn's jaw clenched. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because you've been miserable these past few years and I didn't want to continue to watch my best bro suffer." There was a slight quiver in his voice, causing Finn to _really_ allow his words sink in.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I don't need your concern, but what does Quinn have anything to do with my situation?"

Puck shrugged. "Whenever you were completely hammered, you had a tendency of bringing her up. You didn't talk about her like you did other girls. A lot of times you would blabber on about memories when you two were kids. I just assumed that, way back when, she was the one person who made you happy. I had to try, dude."

"She…_used_ to be that person." They were on the brink of breaching a territory that Finn hardly ever talked about, nor did he want to. "But you know the story of how I fucked that up."

"That wasn't your fault. You couldn't help that your dad–"

"Don't," Finn warned, his voice dropping a few octaves. "Don't bring that up. Please."

Puck ran a hand through his 'hawk and sighed. "Right, I'm sorry. What I was trying to say was that she _could_ be that person again. You could really use someone like her right now."

"I have enough friends," stated Finn. "I don't need any more."

"But Quinn never was _just_ a friend, was she?" Puck countered.

"Stop, alright? Look, she was a childhood friend. Nothing more." The lie caused a brief sensation of pain to vibrate within his chest.

Sighing, Puck stood up. He walked over to the small bar and grabbed a napkin, pulling out a pen.

"What's that?" Finn inquired as he warily eyed the item his friend was holding out to him seconds later.

"This is her number. I get that you might not want to fix things and let her in, but you could at least apologize for acting like a dick… twice now." He added the last part as an afterthought and shoved the napkin into Finn's hand. "Now, do I need to stay here and baby you, or will you be okay staying here by yourself?"

Finn only briefly glanced at the napkin before he shoved it into the pocket of his jeans and stood up, reaching for the leather jacket draped over the back of the sofa. There was only so much of the past that he could deal with for one day.

"Actually, surfing does sound pretty good right now. And you know how I'm always up for a party."

Puck stayed quiet for a few seconds, studying the taller man intently. "There's no way in hell I'm going to let you ride the waves while you're _drunk_. I don't need you drowning on my watch."

"I'm just a little buzzed," Finn corrected, sliding his arms through the sleeves. "I'm fine."

"You aren't fine. Look, we can go grab a bite and I'll help you get sobered up before the party. Sound good?"

"Sure, whatever," Finn replied with a shrug, following his friend out the door. As he locked the door, he couldn't help but think about the crinkled napkin buried within the confines of his jean pocket. Maybe it would be for the best if he just called and apologized. She probably wouldn't believe him, but at least he'd have a clean conscience. Then again, he hadn't done the morally right thing in a long time.

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

"Do you know where the utensils are?" Quinn heaved a sigh of frustration and picked another cardboard box to rustle through.

Santana eyed the blonde curiously as she leaned against the kitchen doorway. "I've never seen someone so _eager_ to unpack."

"Well, maybe if I had some _help_," Quinn huffed with a pointed look.

"I've helped," Santana stated defensively. "All of the eating equipment can be found in the top drawer next to the refrigerator."

"So you actually did something?"

"Hey now," the Latina chastised as she walked into the living room and began absentmindedly pawing through a box, "the bitch act is strictly reserved for me; it just doesn't work on you. Now, tell me where you _really_ went this afternoon."

'_Damn,'_ Quinn thought. Being that she didn't even want to remember the earlier event, she especially did not want to share the unpleasant memory with Santana. The only reason why she was so determined to make the apartment homey in the first place was because it gave her something else to think about.

She pulled out a vase from one of the boxes and pretended to observe it. "I told you, San. I went to get us coffees."

"Cut the crap, Q." Santana scoffed, folding her arms and placing them against her chest. "It doesn't take an hour to get coffee in LA. There are hundreds of coffee shops here."

"It does if you're new to the city."

At that, Santana couldn't find an immediate reply and Quinn smiled victoriously.

"If you're done with the interrogation, I could use your help, Satan."

The raven-haired woman gave her an adamant glare before releasing an exasperated sigh and walking toward a stack of unopened boxes.

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**Finn's POV**

Finn awoke with a jolt, the remnants of the nightmare still not yet gone from his mind. At first, he had no idea where he was, other than the fact that he was on a bed. The room was shrouded in darkness and his vision was already hazy enough as it was. Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Moving at a glacier pace, he gingerly rested a hand against the side of his throbbing head. He glanced to his right and could just barely make out the silhouette of a woman lying on her side.

'_Oh,'_ he thought blankly. '_So _that's_ what happened.'_

Just to verify his assumption, he peeked beneath the comforter. Sure enough, he was correct.

He let out a loud sigh, which only caused his head to pound in response. Though this wasn't exactly an unusual situation to wake up to for him, he felt unsettled by the fact that he couldn't recall the events leading up to it. The last thing he could remember was arriving at Mike's party.

It was clear that some heavy alcohol had been involved, perhaps even some drugs. Drugs _had_ to have been involved, strictly due to the fact that he hadn't had that particular…dream in a few years.

Shocking as it may have seemed, he was usually successful when it came to avoiding narcotics. He had a tendency of committing stupid acts when he was high and preferred not be hounded by Puck the next day. However, he wasn't exactly surprised that he had given in. All he ever needed was a decent reason.

Finn never had been the type who stayed for breakfast after a one-night stand, even in his current condition. Though his body was screaming in protest, he forced his legs to hold him up as he searched the room for his clothes.

The process was slow and took about five minutes, but eventually he stumbled out of the door and headed down the long hallway. He and Mike weren't extremely close, but he'd been to his house enough times to know how to navigate through the maze of hallways.

"Yo," Puck greeted, patting Finn roughly on the shoulder. He looked him over once and said, "You look like shit."

"Could you keep your voice down?" Finn demanded. As if he didn't already know that he looked bad – he _felt_ like shit.

The two men walked down the stairs in silence until they arrived in the kitchen. The tall brunette immediately poured himself a glass of water while Puck watched him in silence.

"Rough night?" Puck asked with a small chuckle.

"You could say that," Finn said flatly. "I don't remember a single fucking thing."

Puck scrunched his face up in confusion. "Seriously?"

With a single nod in response, Finn set the glass on the counter and turned around, heading for the door.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"I need to get out of here," Finn said without looking back. "I'll talk to you later, just…just leave me alone for a bit."

He didn't wait for a reply and was soon out the door, high-tailing it for his car. The reason for his sudden urge to get the hell away from his best friend was based more off of impulse than anything else. Now that it didn't feel like a hammer was beating away at his head, thoughts were finally forming in his mind–mainly about the dream he had.

Out of the blue, a wave of nausea passed through him and he managed to stumble a few feet off of the sleek pathway before he hunched over and emptied the contents of his stomach behind some oddly–and, frankly, ugly–shaped bush.

"Fuck," he groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There had never been a time when he felt so _weak_. So what if his dad happened to appear in his dream? That was all in the past. It was not important–not anymore.

Then why did it bother him so much?

Suddenly feeling a prickling in the back of his eyes, Finn quickly stood up and hurried back toward the direction of his car. It only just occurred to him how early it was–the sun was just beginning to rise.

He huffed out a sigh and shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans, searching for a stray piece of gum or something to get the vile taste out of his mouth. Instead, his hand landed on a soft, smooth surface. His steps faltered and he held his breath as he pulled the napkin from his pocket.

As he looked down at the scrawled numbers, he couldn't deny that there was an unbearable temptation to call her. If anything, he could just use it as an excuse to apologize. He acted like a complete asshole to _Quinn Fabray_ of all people. Aside from her beauty, she was the type of person who had a big heart and an infectious smile. Just being around her had a positive affect on people–even him, though he was capable of hiding that quite well.

Without another thought on the matter, he pulled out his iPhone and punched in Quinn's number. Yeah it was only, like, seven in the morning on a Sunday and basically nobody in their right mind would be awake this early, but he needed to try. Who knew when–no, _if_–he would ever be able to muster the courage to do this again.

There was a total of three rings before she picked up, sounding annoyed and drowsy, and said, "Hello?"

He sucked in a breath and let it out quickly. "Hi…it's, uh, Finn. Would you be willing to meet me somewhere?"

She didn't reply, so he added, his voice unintentionally cracking, "Please?"

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**A/N: Review please? If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me. Thanks for reading!**


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